Page 36 of Hexed Up

“No,” I tell him firmly.

“You’re such a spoil-sport.”

“Says the demon who stopped me from kissing Mr Hottie yesterday.”

“It was for your own good. And anyway, it sounds like you failed to heed my good advice.” Damien taps his fingers against his mouth, his tail swishing around his legs. Then he stops. “I know – shopping!”

“I don’t have any money,” I remind him.

“Then we’ll go door shopping.”

“Window shopping,” I correct.

“Come on,” he says, pushing at my shoulders. “Go get your bag and some shoes.” McGruff yaps as I shift off the sofa and disturb him from his slumber. “No, you’re not coming,” Damien tells him.

An hour later we’re both in cubicles trying on outfits Damien picked off the racks. Most of the outfits he’s picked out for me are skin-tight, Damien’s preferred fitting style. I’m not a fan. Ilike to be able to breathe in my clothing. But standing in front of the mirror this afternoon in a little black dress, I can’t help thinking about what Horatio would make of me dressed in this. It does hug my hips and my arse, and there is quite a lot of tit on display.

“Are you decent?” Damien asks, throwing back the curtain and strolling right in before I can answer.

He’s in a pair of leather shorts and a string vest.

“Is it too much?” he asks me, twirling around. He’s arranged his hair to hide his horns and tucked his tail into his undies.

“Way too much!”

He claps his hands. “Perfect.” He considers me. “You look nice. Like afemme fatale.”

“I do need a dress to this family do …”

“I’m not very familiar with the whole family thing, but is this suitable?”

“No, probably not,” I say, reaching for the zipper. My mum would probably pop an eyeball if I showed up with this much of my breasts on show. Not that I know if I am truly going. It would be pretty dangerous. Plus, I haven’t asked my fake boyfriend yet.

“Then get it,” Damien says.

I reach down to and examine the price-tag. “I can’t afford it.”

Especially when moping around has cost me a day of potion brewing and the reversal potion will cost me even more.

“I’ll get it for you.”

“You will?” Damien’s never offered to buy me anything before. I didn’t even know if he strictly had any money. I usually pay for all our drinks on nights out and for dinner on the odd occasions we go out to eat – which is rare because Damien detests human food.

“This is the first time you’ve agreed to one of my outfit choices. Of course, I’m getting it.”

We try on some more outfits and then Damien takes the dress, as well as the shorts, string vest, and four shirts over to the till.

The assistant rings the items up and I wait with bated breath for Damien to pull out his money. I’m intrigued to find out whether he’s hiding a purse full of rubies and emeralds under his kilt. Only, instead of rooting around for his wallet, he leans across the counter and stares right into the assistant’s eyes. His own glow a menacing red and his horns emerge from his hair, fangs descending into his mouth.

“Erm, Damien,” I whisper, but he ignores me.

“I am a fashion influencer. You will gift me these clothes in return for social media exposure.”

The assistant stares back at Damien in a trance. “I will gift you these clothes in return for social media exposure,” the man chimes.

“Great!” Damien snatches the bag, swings it over his shoulder and spins back to me. “Let’s go!”

“You can’t do that,” I hiss.